Best Kept Secret

11





THE BUTLER HANDED Sir Giles his post on a silver tray. Giles flicked quickly through it, as he did every morning, separating the long, thin, brown envelopes, which he placed to one side, from the white, square ones which he would open immediately. Among the envelopes that caught his attention that morning was a long, thin white one that bore a Bristol postmark. He tore it open.

He pulled out a single sheet of paper addressed To Whom It May Concern. Once he’d read it, he looked up and smiled at Virginia, who had joined him for a late breakfast.

‘It will all be done and dusted next Wednesday,’ he announced.

Virginia didn’t look up from her copy of the Daily Express. She always began the morning with a cup of black coffee and William Hickey, so she could find out what her friends were up to, and which debutantes were hoping to be presented at court that year, and which had no chance.

‘What will be done and dusted?’ she asked, still not looking up.

‘Mama’s will.’

Virginia forgot all about hopeful debutantes, folded her newspaper and smiled sweetly at Giles. ‘Tell me more, my darling.’

‘The reading of the will is to take place in Bristol next Wednesday. We could drive down on Tuesday afternoon, spend the night at the Hall, and attend the reading the next day.’

‘What time will it be read?’

Giles glanced at the letter once again. ‘Eleven o’clock, in the offices of Marshall, Baker and Siddons.’

‘Would you mind terribly, Bunny, if we drove down early on the Wednesday morning? I don’t think I can face another evening being nice to your chippy sister.’

Giles was about to say something, but changed his mind. ‘Of course, my love.’

‘Stop calling me “my love”, Bunny, it’s dreadfully common.’

‘What sort of day have you got ahead of you, my darling?’

‘Hectic, as usual. I never seem to stop nowadays. Another dress fitting this morning, lunch with the bridesmaids, and then this afternoon I have an appointment with the caterers, who are pressing me on numbers.’

‘What’s the latest?’ asked Giles.

‘Just over two hundred from my side, and another hundred and thirty from yours. I was rather hoping to send out the invitations next week.’

‘That’s fine by me,’ said Giles. ‘Which reminds me,’ he added, ‘the speaker has granted my request to use the Commons’ terrace for the reception, so perhaps we ought to invite him as well.’

‘Of course, Bunny. After all, he is a Conservative.’

‘And possibly Mr Attlee,’ suggested Giles tentatively.

‘I’m not sure how Papa would feel about the leader of the Labour Party attending his only daughter’s wedding. Perhaps I could ask him to invite Mr Churchill.’



The following Wednesday, Giles drove his Jaguar over to Cadogan Gardens and parked outside Virginia’s flat. He rang the front doorbell, expecting to join his fiancée for breakfast.

‘Lady Virginia has not come down yet, sir,’ said the butler. ‘But if you’d care to wait in the drawing room, I can bring you a cup of coffee and the morning papers.’

‘Thank you, Mason,’ Giles said to the butler, who had once confessed to him privately that he voted Labour.

Giles settled down in a comfortable chair, and was offered a choice of the Express or the Telegraph. He settled on the Telegraph, because the headline on the front page caught his attention: Eisenhower announces he will stand for president. The decision didn’t surprise Giles, although he was interested to learn that the general would be standing as a Republican, because until recently no one seemed quite sure which party he supported, after both the Democrats and the Republicans had made overtures to him.

Giles glanced at his watch every few minutes, but there was no sign of Virginia. When the clock on the mantelpiece struck the half hour, he turned his attention to an article on page seven, which suggested Britain was considering building its first motorway. The stalemate in the Korean War was covered on the parliamentary pages, and Giles’s speech on a forty-eight-hour week for all workers and every hour beyond that being treated as overtime was quoted at length, with an editorial condemning his views. He smiled. After all, it was the Telegraph. Giles was reading an announcement in the court circular that Princess Elizabeth would be embarking on a tour of Africa in January, when Virginia burst into the room.

‘I’m so sorry to have kept you waiting, my darling, but I just couldn’t decide what to wear.’

He leapt up and kissed his fiancée on both cheeks, took a pace back, and once again thought how lucky he was that this beautiful woman had ever given him a second look.

‘You look fabulous,’ he said, admiring a yellow dress he’d never seen before, which emphasized her slim, graceful figure.

‘A little risqué perhaps for the reading of a will?’ suggested Virginia as she spun round in a circle.

‘Certainly not,’ said Giles. ‘In fact, the moment you walk into the room, no one will be thinking of anything else.’

‘I should hope not,’ said Virginia as she checked her watch. ‘Heavens, is it really that late? We’d better skip breakfast, Bunny, if we’re going to be on time. Not that we don’t already know the contents of your mother’s will, but it must appear as if we don’t.’

On the way down to Bristol, Virginia brought Giles up to date on the latest wedding arrangements. He was a little disappointed that she didn’t ask how his speech from the front bench had been received the previous day, but then, William Hickey hadn’t been in the press gallery. It wasn’t until they were on the Great West Road that Virginia said something that demanded his full attention.

‘The first thing we’ll have to do once the will has been executed is look for a replacement for Marsden.’

‘But he’s been with the family for over thirty years,’ said Giles. ‘In fact, I can’t remember when he wasn’t there.’

‘Which is part of the problem. But don’t worry yourself, my darling, I think I may have found the perfect replacement.’

‘But—’

‘And if you feel that strongly about it, Bunny, Marsden can always go and work at the Manor House, and take care of my aunts.’

‘But—’

‘And while I’m on the subject of replacements,’ continued Virginia, ‘it’s high time we had a serious talk about Jackie.’

‘My personal secretary?’

‘She’s far too personal, in my opinion. I can’t pretend that I approve of this modern habit of staff calling their bosses by their Christian names. No doubt it’s all part of the Labour Party’s absurd notion of equality. However, I felt it necessary to remind her that it’s Lady Virginia.’

‘I am sorry,’ said Giles. ‘She’s usually so polite.’

‘With you perhaps, but when I rang yesterday, she asked me to hold the line, something I’m not in the habit of doing.’

‘I’ll have a word with her about it.’

‘Please don’t bother,’ said Virginia, which came as a relief to Giles. ‘Because I shall not be contacting your office again while she remains on your staff.’

‘Isn’t that a little extreme? After all, she does a first-class job, and I’d find it almost impossible to replace her.’

Virginia leant over and kissed him on the cheek. ‘I do hope, Bunny, that I will be the only person you will find it almost impossible to replace.’



Mr Siddons entered the room, and was not surprised to find that everyone who had received the To Whom It May Concern letter was present. He sat down at his desk and peered at the hopeful faces.

In the front row sat Sir Giles Barrington and his fiancée, Lady Virginia Fenwick, who was even more striking in person than the photograph he’d seen of her in Country Life soon after the couple had announced their engagement. Mr Siddons was looking forward to making her acquaintance.

In the second row, seated directly behind them, were Mr Harry Clifton and his wife Emma, who was sitting next to her sister, Grace. It amused him to see that Miss Barrington was wearing blue stockings.

Mr and Mrs Holcombe sat in the third row, alongside the Reverend Mr Donaldson and a lady who was dressed in a matron’s uniform. The back two rows were filled with staff who had served the Barrington family for many years, their selection of seats revealing their station.

Mr Siddons perched a pair of half-moon spectacles on the end of his nose and cleared his throat to indicate that proceedings were about to begin.

He looked over the top of his spectacles at the assembled gathering, before making his opening remarks. He didn’t require any notes, as this was a responsibility he carried out on a regular basis.

‘Ladies and gentlemen,’ he began. ‘My name is Desmond Siddons, and I have had the privilege of being the Barrington family’s solicitor for the past twenty-three years, although it will be some time before I equal the record of my father, whose association with the family covered the careers of both Sir Walter and Sir Hugo Barrington. However, I digress.’ Mr Siddons thought Lady Virginia looked as if she agreed with him.

‘I am in possession,’ he continued, ‘of the last will and testament of Elizabeth May Barrington, which was executed by me at her request, and signed in the presence of two independent witnesses. Therefore this document,’ he continued, holding it up for all to see, ‘renders any previous will null and void.

‘I shall not waste your time going over the pages of legal jargon that are demanded by the law, but rather I will concentrate on the several relevant bequests left by her ladyship. Should anyone wish to study the will in greater detail later, they are most welcome to do so.’

Mr Siddons looked down, turned the page and adjusted his glasses before continuing.

‘Several charities close to the deceased’s heart are named in the will. They include the parish church of St Andrew’s, Dr Barnardo’s homes, and the hospital that nursed Lady Barrington so compassionately through her final days. Each of these establishments will receive a bequest of five hundred pounds.’

Mr Siddons readjusted his spectacles once again.

‘I shall now move on to those individuals who have served the Barrington household over the years. Every member of staff who was employed by Lady Barrington for more than five years will receive an additional year’s salary, while the resident housekeeper and butler will also be granted a further five hundred pounds each.’

Marsden bowed his head and mouthed the words, thank you, m’lady.

‘I now turn to Mrs Holcombe, formerly Mrs Arthur Clifton. To her is bequeathed the Victorian brooch that Lady Barrington wore on the day of her daughter’s wedding, and that she hopes, and I quote her testament, will help Mrs Holcombe recall the many happy times they shared together.’

Maisie smiled, but could only wonder when she could possibly wear such a magnificent piece of jewellery.

Mr Siddons turned another page, and pushed his half-moon spectacles back up his nose before he continued.

‘I leave to Jessica Clifton, née Piotrovska, my grandfather’s favourite watercolour of the Lock at Cleveland by Turner. I hope it will inspire her, for I believe she possesses a remarkable gift that should be given every opportunity to blossom.’

Giles nodded, well remembering those words when his mother had explained why she had wanted Jessica to inherit the coveted Turner.

‘And to my grandson, Sebastian Arthur Clifton,’ Mr Siddons continued, ‘I bequeath the sum of five thousand pounds, which he will receive when he comes of age, on March the ninth 1961.’

Giles nodded again. No surprise there, he thought.

‘The remainder of my estate, including twenty-two per cent of Barrington Shipping, as well as the Manor House –’ Mr Siddons couldn’t resist a glance in the direction of Lady Virginia Fenwick, who was sitting on the edge of her seat – ‘is to be left to my beloved . . . daughters Emma and Grace, to dispose of as they see fit, with the exception of my Siamese cat, Cleopatra, who I leave to Lady Virginia Fenwick, because they have so much in common. They are both beautiful, well-groomed, vain, cunning, manipulative predators, who assume that everyone else was put on earth to serve them, including my besotted son, who I can only pray will break from the spell she has cast on him before it is too late.’

It was clear to Mr Siddons from the looks of shock and the whispered chattering that broke out from all quarters of the room that no one had expected this, although he did observe that Mr Clifton remained remarkably calm. Calm was not a word that would have described Lady Virginia, who was whispering something in Giles’s ear.

‘That completes the reading of the will,’ said Mr Siddons. ‘If there are any questions, I will be happy to answer them.’

‘Just one,’ said Giles, before anyone else had a chance to speak. ‘How long do I have to contest the will?’

‘You can lodge an appeal against judgment in the High Court at any time during the next twenty-eight days, Sir Giles,’ said Mr Siddons, having anticipated the question, and the questioner.

If there were any other questions, Sir Giles and Lady Virginia did not hear them, as they stormed out of the room without another word.